Perpetual Motion
by Kaetlynn
Summary: Captain America/Snowpiercer AU. After Steve crashes the plane, he wakes up in a different world with a different identity. This time, he's fighting a completely different war.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own anything involved with Marvel Comics/Marvel Cinematic Universe or _Snowpiercer_. I am not making any money off this work of fiction.

General: Spoilers for _Snowpiercer. _If you haven't seen it, run now to go see it! I'll definitely have spoilers for some of the main plot points, so please be warned, if you don't want to have certain things spoiled before you see the film. Content referenced from Captain America won't go beyond the first movie. I won't be using Winter Soldier material for this fic.

Author's Note: This is a Captain America/Snowpiercer AU. Or, alternatively, Steve's cold-sleep dreams. Because, well, someone had to fucking do it. This story begins at the end of CA: TFA when Steve crashes the plane. He doesn't wake up in a SHIELD recovery room in 2011. He wakes up in a cold, dirty train with a completely different identity. Bucky is alive but doesn't know him as Steve.

Rating: T, for now.

_Perpetual Motion_

Chapter 1:

Steve never felt the crash. Mercifully, everything went dark fractions of seconds after the impact. He didn't feel any pain. Just sudden darkness and quiet. Steve had wondered so often what it was like to die. Hell, he had lived longer than he had ever thought he would, especially back before the serum. He was never under any illusions of immortality, then or now. The kinds of things he did as a kid, the missions he led with the Commandos; Steve had never stopped risking his life.

After all the wondering and fear, death turned out to be just like the lights being switched off. Darkness, silence, and his life slowly disappearing through your own mind.

That's all it was.

Like going to sleep.

God, he was tired, _so tired._

* * *

"_He's been out for a while now. He got his bell rung real good this time."_

"_What about that Kr…"_

"_Shut the fuck up. Do you want everyone in this car to hear you? Every single one o' these bastards would be at our throats for that shite. If they knew we had some…"_

"_Yeah, and he gave up a whole weeks' worth of blocks to get that box there."_

"_Dumb bastard don't know his place. God love 'im."_

Steve could. not. open. his. eyes. His eyelids felt like they were glued together. His entire body felt frozen, sluggish, and heavy. He couldn't figure out where the voices were coming from. He didn't recognize any of the voices, either. He moved his head to the side, pain exploding throughout his skull with the slight movement.

"_Look. I think he's wakin' up. I told ya, that's a tough sonuvabitch, right there." _That voice. Steve's eyes burst wide open.

"Bucky!"

Steve flashed groggy, panicky eyes up and around the small crowd huddled around him. He didn't see Bucky at first. What he did see….

Hungry, filthy faces framed by wild and untamed hair. Clothing so tattered the pieces were practically disintegrating.

Weary, sad, _hollow_ faces. Finally, the second time he scanned the crowd, Buck's face was staring back at him. It was so familiar, even underneath the dark beard and grimy skin. Steve exhaled a weary sigh, too aware of the pressing ache in his chest. He managed to squeeze out a single, sobbing syllable.

"Buck."

He was rewarded with a close-mouthed, crooked grin. "Thought you weren't gonna wake up this time, Curtis. Those guards just weren't in the mood for your shit today, man."

Steve tried to sit up straighter, trying and failing at a return smile. "Who's Curtis?" Steve was only watching Bucky, but if he had bothered to look at the other people standing around him, he would have seen nervous looks exchanged, coupled with eyes that went just a bit wilder. The blonde with an Irish accent grabbed his head with both hands and twisted around. "I fuckin' told you. He was out too long. His head's rattled." Steve squeezed his eyes shut against their dull ache and swiped his hand across his forehead. He stared at the sticky red-brown staining his fingers.

Bucky and the skinny blond knelt in front of Steve. He grabbed Steve's hand firmly, ignored the blood, and stared into Steve's eyes. "You don't remember anything this time, do you, Curtis?" Steve shot a panicked glance in Bucky's direction. "No, I can't…I thought you were dead, though, Buck. I watched you fall from the train." More nervous glances exchanged between Bucky and the skinny kid. There was something going on here. What was it that Buck was holding back? "What happened to the plane, Buck? I flew it into the ice. And why do you keep calling me Curtis?" Steve finally stopped, his breath hitching.

The blond Irish kid gripped Steve's hand like it was a lifeline. "Because that's your name. That's who you are. Curtis, the big dumb bastard who can't keep his fuckin' mouth shut." Was the kid...was he crying? It looked like he was trying his damnedest to force back tears. He dug filthy fingers into his eyes and turned to Bucky. "We gotta take him to Gilliam. He'll know what to do."

"I don't know. This hasn't happened before. Gilliam's not a brain surgeon or a head shrinker." Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Can you walk, pal? We're a couple of cars in front of Gilliam. If you can't make it, we can wheel you back on the cart. I don't want you to pass out and hit your head." Bucky smirked. "Although if you did, maybe you'd remember again."

"Remember what, Buck? Where the hell am I, anyway?" Bucky nodded to someone beyond Steve's line of vision, and the space was suddenly flooded with light. Well, flooded compared to the dim glow that lit the room before. Steve looked around him in shock at the cramped bunks and grim surroundings.

"I hate to take you away from whatever paradise you were fantasizing while you were out cold, Curtis, but you're on the train. The tail section. You're on the train, pal."

Continued in Chapter 2


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that has to do with Snowpiercer or the MCU. I'm just having fun with the characters!

_Chapter 2_

_The train._

He couldn't be on a train. It was too quiet, too still to be a train. Steve was so confused. He still couldn't figure out how Bucky was here. All he could remember was putting the plane in the ice.

Had he been found and captured by Hydra? That would make sense.

"Are we prisoners on a Hydra train, Buck?"

Bucky shook his head. "Man, what's Hydra? This is Wilford's train. You really aren't messing around, huh? You really don't remember."

He had to be dead, then. He was dead, and this was some sort of afterlife. It sure as hell wasn't heaven.

Steve felt himself being dragged up by the collar. He looked down at his body, hidden under layers and layers of ragged clothing. "I got you, Curtis. Lay down here." Edgar and Bucky lifted him effortlessly and placed him on some type of cart. He refused to lay back, instead sitting cross-legged, taking in as much of what was going on around him as he could. He was wheeled through car after car of packed bunks, so many that Steve lost count. "You sure we're on a train?"

Edgar roared at that. "We're not in a hotel in Cabo San fuckin' Lucas." They stopped in front of another gate, and Steve caught a glimpse of a bearded, wild-eyed stranger across the tiny, cramped space. The two locked eyes before Steve realized it was a mirror, and the person was him. He looked like he had aged _years. _The lines on his face and shadows under his eyes reminded him of prisoners he had liberated from Hydra camps back….well, back when he was in a world he remembered. A world he was familiar with. His hair was shaved close to his head, shorter than he had ever worn it in the past. He had more hair on his face than he did on top of his head. The feeling of a beard was strange, even uncomfortable. Maybe he could shave later. _What could have happened to me that I can't even recognize my own face in a mirror_, Steve thought.

The gate finally opened, and they passed through yet another car full of cramped bunks.

The tattered curtain was pulled back to reveal a seated man, bespectacled and bearded. He looked up when Steve-Curtis was wheeled through the makeshift doorway.

"Ah, Curtis. What happened to you this time, son?"

Steve wanted to scream. _That's not my name. That's _not _my name!_

Except the look on the man's face was so kindly and _real _that Steve couldn't force himself to argue.

"I...I don't know. I just woke up."

"Edgar told me you don't remember your own name. You won't remember mine, either, if that's the case. My name is Gilliam."

Steve stared at the quivering, murky mass in Edgar's hand. Every bit of him wanted to refuse, but Edgar grabbed his hand roughly and shoved the gelatinous block into his fist. "Fuckin' eat, Curtis. I watched you. You haven't eaten for days. You need something to get your strength back."

This was food? Steve remembered some truly foul rations, but what was being offered to him now made those rations look like food of the gods.

"I…I can't take your food. You need it. Please don't make me eat your food." His voice was scratchy, rough sounding. He needed water. That was what he needed. Not….whatever it was Edgar was trying to get him to eat.

"I swear to Christ, Curtis, if you don't fuckin' eat it, I'm gonna shove this between your goddamn teeth and make you swallow it."

Steve shot a helpless look at Gilliam and Bucky. They both looked like they were in agreement with Edgar. "Fine. I'll eat it."

These rations, whatever they were, weren't like anything Steve had ever eaten in his entire life.

They didn't taste like what he had been expecting them to taste like. It tasted brown and earthy. Was that possible? Can something _taste _brown? Steve decided that it was definitely possible. It certainly didn't taste good, whatever it was. Still, the taste wasn't as horrible as he was expecting. The taste wasn't the part that bothered him. It was the texture. The block dissolved into crunchiness as he chewed. It left a film of grit on his tongue and teeth. Steve forcibly swallowed.

"His injury does push things back a bit. We'll have to wait until he heals, and remembers everything. It won't do any good to try if…well, Curtis isn't Curtis."

"Why is everyone still talking about me like I'm not sitting right in the middle of the room?"

"I'm sorry, my boy. I'm an old man, and tired. Forgive me." Gilliam unwrapped a piece of cloth, its cleanliness in stark contrast with the rest of the room. "All that blood isn't just coming from your head."

"One of the guards clipped him on the arm." Sure enough, there was blood crusted around a slash in the coat sleeve on Steve's-Curtis's arm. "Take off your cap, and your coat," Bucky ordered.

Steve awkwardly tried to unbutton the wool coat, but his fingers were pathetically useless. "I…I can't."

"It's okay. I'll get it." Edgar had shoved his way through and nimbly removed both the cap and coat before Steve even realized what he was doing. "Big dumb bastard." It was clear that this kid, Edgar, meant anything but that. Steve saw how he kept looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He looked scared shitless. For him?

Steve looked down at his torso. Then looked down at his torso again. Now that he didn't have that huge overcoat covering him up, he could make out the shape and build of his body.

One thing he could say for sure, he had awoken to massive changes to his body more times than probably anyone in history. He wasn't scrawny like he had been back before the serum. It was more like he had shrunk overnight. Then again, Steve had no idea how long he had been out. The heavy beard suggested more than just a night had passed. His clothes hung loosely off him, he could see that clearly now. He felt his arms, kneading his fingers across wiry muscles. His hands drifted to his stomach. He lifted the ratty shirt, noting how low his pants sat on his even narrower hips. Was the serum wearing off somehow? The thought of his asthma returning made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Curtis. _Curtis!" _That was Edgar. "Did you hear me? We gotta patch your arm up. Hold it out for Gilliam. He's gonna wrap it for you, okay?" Steve nodded numbly and lifted his arm. Pain like he couldn't believe shot through his arm. He couldn't stop the honest-to-God whimper that escaped his lips. He grit his teeth so hard he thought they would shatter. Steve felt fingers trace circles on his back—Bucky's fingers. "Sorry, Curtis. We gotta clean it. You're filthy. I mean, we all are, but…you don't want your arm to get infected, do you?" Steve couldn't speak. He hissed through his clenched teeth as _whatever it was _they poured on his arm fizzed, bubbled, stung, and then was wiped away. Gilliam slowly wrapped the torn flesh with some bandages and pinned it. The gentle eyes focused on Steve-Curtis's. "We need to dress the wound on your head, Curtis, okay?"

Almost before he was aware of what was happening, Steve felt the same white-hot burning on his head before he lurched back onto the cart. Familiar hands gripped his back and eased him back up. "Not yet. You can't pass out on me, Curtis, please. Let us finish this, and then you can go rest. I promise." Bucky offered a crooked smile out of the side of his mouth.

Steve tried to smile back, but he faded into darkness as the same searing pain spread across his head. He heard Edgar's swearing as the bandage was quickly wrapped around his head.

"We're gonna go over here to this bunk, okay? You're gonna be okay. Edgar got some extra blankets for you." Bucky and Gilliam were the last two faces Steve saw before he felt himself being lifted and placed on a bed. His eyes shut effortlessly and he drifted away.

When he awoke, Steve was immediately aware of a presence next to him in the bed. Bucky was sitting with his back to the wall. There was a dim light, flickering from the glow of a candle. It was just enough light to make out Bucky's face. His eyes were wild-looking, wide awake. Steve glanced down and saw Edgar curled up, asleep on the floor. He hadn't left his side. He wouldn't wake the kid up. Bucky, he was already awake. Maybe he could finally get some answers about where he was and what was going on. If this was Hydra, they all had to move quickly.

"Buck? You awake?"

"Yeah, Curtis?" Steve grimaced in the darkness. He would have to get used to that. Wherever he was, he was Curtis to these people, including Bucky.

"What do you remember, before the train?"

"Before the train? I tried my best to forget. After we boarded, well…you remember how bad it was."

"Tell me about it, Buck. What happened?"

"The chaos. All those people packed into those metal cages. The stench of death. Despair. No food, no water. You remember."

_God, Bucky, I'm glad I don't. _

"Little bits and pieces," Steve pathetically attempted to lie, thankful for the cover the darkness gave him.

"After the protein blocks came to us, the drugs started to trickle in too. I still don't have any idea how long I spent with kronol up my nose, but it was the only thing that made me forget about everything I had done. Goddammit, Curtis. I should have been one of the ones who got torn apart." Bucky's voice broke. "It was the drugs. I don't remember anything before the train. I think that's my personal hell, to be stuck in this moving prison cell without even memories of what it was like before. Being able to feel the sun on your face, or eating something that had a taste. I used to think I was lucky I didn't die, but now, I don't know. I think the dead are the lucky ones."

Steve's chest ached to hear Bucky sound so hopeless.

"I'm glad you're not dead, Buck. You have no idea." _No fucking idea, Buck. _Steve's voice was quivery and weak.

"I'm glad you're not dead, either, ya punk. If we're stuck here, at least we've got each other, huh?" Bucky attempted a grin, mainly for Steve—Curtis's benefit. His snaggletooth caught the dim light and flashed in the darkness.

Steve—no, Curtis, felt a rush of heat prickling his eyes. He blinked. Tears ran immediately down his cheeks, leaving wet, semi-clean streaks in the dirt and blood. He could feel the wet melting into his beard. He wasn't sure why he was crying. Maybe it was sheer joy at having Bucky, alive. Steve never thought he'd see Bucky again.

Underneath all that, Steve knew the true reason for his tears. He had not only flown that plane into the ice, to save New York City—_his city_—from destruction, he had also simply given up. As much as he hated to admit it, he had wanted to join Bucky in death. A small part of him had hoped that in death, he would be able to see Bucky again.

He had gotten his wish. Bucky was sitting right in front of him, warm and alive. He just didn't know him as Steve. In this world, he was Curtis, and Steve had never existed.

He had to be in hell. That was the only thing that made sense. He had asked so many questions since he woke up in this _place._ Not a single one of them had been answered, at least in a way that made sense. All he knew was that he was sitting, hunched over, in a cramped space that made prisoner of war camps look like the Waldorf-Astoria, in a body he didn't recognize, with his oldest friend who no longer shared any of his memories. Bucky rubbed circles on Steve-Curtis's back. He didn't tell him it would be okay. This world's version of Bucky couldn't tell that glaring of a lie.


End file.
